


Someday My Prince Will Come

by justanothersong



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Body Horror, Crushes, Disney References, F/M, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 15:33:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7850854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothersong/pseuds/justanothersong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was there that the wild frenetic feelings of a childhood crush began to change; the edges evened out, became smoother, more concrete. They had put you directly into Tony’s lab and you saw him everyday. He always greeted you warmly and found an excuse to touch you, a hand on your shoulder, a thumb and forefinger on your chin to guide your gaze where he wanted it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someday My Prince Will Come

You were just a little thing when you first met him. You can barely remember the context, though you remember how itchy your tights felt and how the lace at the collar of your dress scratched at your neck. In later years, you assumed it was some sort of party that your parents had dragged you along to, though you never asked.

What you do remember for certain is that you were just days from having seen _The Little Mermaid_ for the very first time, still flying high on daydreams of sea witches and handsome princes, and when you set eyes on a young Tony Stark, you gasped and hid your face in your mother’s skirt.

She laughed, and rubbed your back. “Are we shy today?” she asked.

“It’s Prince Eric!” you replied in a loud whisper, and the adults laughed.

For the rest of the night, every time you saw him, he’d give you a secret little smile or a wink, and you’d hide behind your hands, peeking at him through your fingers.

 

You were twelve the next time you saw him. Another party and your parents were on the guest list, shockingly tame enough that they could bring you a long. Tony already had a reputation by then, but it was a smaller affair, something to do with stockholders and end of term dividends. You were gawky and awkward in glasses and braces and he fixed a grin on you the moment you walked in the door.

“There’s my little mermaid!” he announced loudly, and you flushed as red as Ariel’s hair when all heads around the room turned to face you.

You parents laughed and he shook your father’s hand, clapping him hard on the back before greeting your mother with a peck on the cheek.

You stared, wide-eyed, when he offered you his arm. “Shall we?” he asked.

Your mother gave one of her small amused smiles. “Go ahead,” she prodded, and you just knew she was wishing she had a camera.

You gave in and slipped your arm through his with a sigh. “I promise, I don’t bite,” he said.

 

When you were seventeen, you’d made it to the New York City Science and Engineering Fair. Your parents were ecstatic; you and your best friend, Chloe, had built a perpetual motion machine with the intent of proving that a usable energy output could gathered from such mechanisms. You made it to the finals and were excited about your chances.

He was one of the judges; you had no idea he would be there.

Your breath caught in your throat when he approached your table, and you found yourself suddenly glad that you’d switched to contacts two years before and ditched the braces a year later. You had turned quickly to try and fix your hair in the reflection of a nearby window, trying to straighten your clothes and look vaguely presentable after a long day of explaining your project to the different judges.

You hadn’t expected him to even remember you, but he broke out into a smile when he saw you.

“Didn’t know I’d be seeing you here, princess,” he said, and pulled you into a hug that had Chloe letting out a gasp. You had told her once that yes, you had met THE Tony Stark, but you didn’t think she ever really believed you.

You stuttered your way through your presentation; Chloe hadn’t even been able to speak.

You got second place.

Tony came back to your table afterwards, handing each of you a business card. “Ladies, you did amazing work here, I want you to know that. Could use some sharp minds like yours working for me. Call me when you get out of college.”

He turned to go and seemed to think better of it, pausing and turning back. “And just so you know? My vote was with you two. Very clever.”

 

You applied for an internship when you were twenty, finishing up your senior year of college on an expedited program. You hadn’t expected to really get it, certain that you’d never meet the high standards required at Stark Industries, but you’d gotten the call not a week after applying. You were in.

It was there that the wild frenetic feelings of a childhood crush began to change; the edges evened out, became smoother, more concrete. They had put you directly into Tony’s lab and you saw him everyday. He always greeted you warmly and found an excuse to touch you, a hand on your shoulder, a thumb and forefinger on your chin to guide your gaze where he wanted it. 

There were rumors almost immediately, among the other interns and lab assistants. They resented his interest in you, his insistence on including on every major project; Chloe was there, having earned another coveted spot among the interns and you knew she fueled the fire, whispering to the others how you had known him for so long, how he had greeted you with an embrace and called you a princess. She was jealous, you knew; it wasn’t uncommon for the people who worked with the charismatic billionaire to harbor an attraction to the man or a deep-seated envy for anyone they saw as cashing in on it.

They couldn’t have been more wrong. Tony was perfectly respectable with you, never making so much as a crass comment or come-on. Not that you would have minded; you had gotten to know the man behind the handsome facade and though he was by no means perfect, you couldn’t help what you felt for him. Womanizer or not, he had your heart.

He threw a party for all of the interns at the end of the term, and while the others were drinking and dancing, Tony whisked you away to a private balcony, away from prying eyes.

He kissed you soft and slow, nothing like you would have expected with his reputation but exactly how you would have wished it. His touch was almost reverent, breaking your heart just a little in the way he seemed to see you as something priceless and exalted.

Then he took your hand in his, kissing each knuckle, telling you that he hoped you’d come back -- come back to him -- after you graduated. He put a pendant around your neck, a small blister pearl on a fine gold chain, and told you that it was only fitting for his princess.

 

When you did graduate, the offer came through more legit channels. A letter, sent overnight to your family home, Stark letterhead with a personal note and everything. You were sorely tempted.

But something felt wrong about parlaying a childhood crush into a job. Your father had worked for Tony’s father; your families had history. You wanted to be certain that you had earned your place; you wanted everyone else to know that you had earned it the right way, and not on your back.

Besides, you knew how Tony was. You’d seen it, when your internship had first begun, a revolving door of astonishingly beautiful women that he’d tire of all too quickly. You couldn’t be just another notch on his belt, not with all he’d meant to you over the years.

So when the scout for EcoTech approached you with an offer, you jumped on it. After all, green energy had been your study focus all along, and EcoTech had an amazing pitch, outlining how they were moving towards a completely eco-friendly business model.

You had no idea what they had really meant by that.

You worked quite happily for several years, until several strange incidents put you on your guard.

First were the mice. You were at the warehouse, asking after a short shipment of copper coils necessary for the large scale perpetual engine you were building, when you saw them bringing in cage after cage full of white laboratory mice. It startled you; EcoTech had promised from the outset that it was entirely cruelty-free.

No one could tell you what they were for -- or would tell you.

Then there was Chloe. You had grown apart as friends over the years but she had come into EcoTech at your side. For her to disappear suddenly, without so much as a goodbye? It was too strange.

Then there were more locked doors, more meetings you were being shut out of, and suddenly you were no longer running point on your own project. 

Angry at being shunted away from years and years of your own research and hard work, you’d stormed into your supervisor’s office and demanded to know what was happening. You’d seen the mice, you told them, and the larger rats that came later. You’d been on the dock to watch the shipments come in just a month before and seen the chimpanzees, pitiful things locked down in cages. You’d go to the press, if they couldn’t explain themselves.

You didn’t expect the security guards you had known for years to descend upon you, dragging you kicking and screaming towards a service elevator, your supervisor following and shouting for them to mind your head, be careful of your head.

The held a foul-smelling cloth over your face and when you awoke later, your mind was no longer your own.

 

You had been networked for 67 days when EcoTech began to crumble. Their hypothesis had been correct: organic manner could provide a battery for all sorts of things, and the human brain was as powerful as any computer man could create. They hadn’t counted on anyone noticing the missing employees, or the new, strange patterns to the building’s energy output.

They used you on Level 2XB, a sub-basement laboratory with highly restricted access. Gavin, a former physicist, had provided much of the energy output, while you and Chloe were the lab’s supercomputers. You had been the last one taken and your glass-walled cubicle was placed center on the floor, with Chloe and Gavin flanking your sides.

They had initially strapped you to the chair, but after they placed the large-scale cathode in your brainstem, your possible escape was no longer an issue. Your legs were still strapped in place to keep you from falling and the feeding tubes and catheters wound around the chair; two rectifier diodes were inserted into your skull, one on each temple, and a deep-penetrating electrode wire passed through the middle of your forehead and into your brain.

 

Chloe was dead by the time they came in to find you. Gavin was fading but you could still feel some activity in his brain, just barely there; he had been there longest, 184 days, but Chloe had been worked harder. They had added you to the supply to alleviate some of the wear and tear on her, but it had already taken its toll. By then, most of those who had longest stayed loyal to the cause had abandoned the compound entirely; there was no one there to pull the corpse from the cubicle beside you. The clean-room laboratory setting all but negated decomposition and she was slumped in her chair, quietly desiccating, while you and Gavin continued powering and running computers in an empty building.

You shouted for help when they arrived, screamed and flailed in place, at least in your mind. You were unable to do much of anything, just stare blankly ahead and let information and energy pass through you. When the first one approached your cubicle in horror, your security programming kicked into gear and used your eyes to scan his face, your voice to address him.

“You are Rogers, Captain Steven Grant. United States Army. Serial Number 987654320. You do not have appropriate security privileges to access Laboratory Level 2XB. Please return to the public lobby and await further security instruction,” your voice parroted out, dry blistered lips cracking as you spoke.

The Captain stared at you in abject horror, though your face remained impassive.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, one gloved hand going to his ear. “Tony, Buck, get down here. I found… god, I don’t even know what it is, just get down here.”

The came quickly and swore when they saw you; you didn’t even blink.

“You are Barnes, Sergeant James Buchanan. United States Army. Serial Number 32557038. You do not have appropriate security privileges to access Laboratory Level 2XB. Please return to the public lobby and await further security instruction,” you said again, and Bucky gaped.

“Fucksake, what’d they do?” he asked, clearly rattled by what he saw. “They make a… a computer out’of em? All three of them?”

Another voice spoke out, but it came from behind your cubicle and you couldn’t scan him for recognition.

“About a dozen more upstairs,” the voice said. “All dead. One functioning but not really there, not where it counts anyway.”

Steve swore under his breath, and shook his head. “Can’t imagine any of them are really alive, not like this.”

Bucky nodded. “Should just… pull the plug, or something. Give’em a little peace.” 

The voice behind you became suddenly angry. “We’re not pulling a god damn plug until we know that they can’t be saved,” he said sternly.

Steve’s expression softened. “Tony… she can’t really be… look at the girl in the next box, she’s gone. They’re all gone.”

“She talked to you, didn’t she?” Tony responded, and rounded the cubicle. You blinked rapidly several times, the current running through you attempting to route information files into your brain but the organic material fighting back against it; you didn’t need to access any file, not this time. You knew who he was.

“It’s just the power they got runnin’ through her, usin’ her like a puppet,” Bucky said, voice low and quiet. He seemed to know something about what he was saying.

“We’re not doing anything until we’re… until _I’m_ sure,” Tony replied firmly, then moved forward to face you fully in the soft glow of the lights in your cubicle. Your face remained impassive, even as you were screaming inside.

Conscious thought was more to the surface of your mind than it had been in a long time. How you must look, you thought; thin, emaciated, subsisting on saline drips and feeding tubes, portions of your hair hacked away to make room for the implementation of the computer and electrical lines. 

“Well?” Tony asked, staring you down, the helmet of his Iron Man suit tossed to the floor only moments before. “Aren’t you going to read me the riot act?”

You programming tried to override your thoughts again.

“You are Stark…” you began, voice monotone, but you fought it with every last ounce of strength you had. Your jaw worked itself up and down, and your throat made clicking noises as the spiel you had been programmed to speak tried to erupt, but you swallowed it back as best as you could.

Tony took another step forward, placing both hands on your console. “Who am I? Tell me,” he said, and you choked on a sob that the computer wouldn’t allow you to make.

“You… are…” you began shakily, one fat tear gone pink with blood falling from your right eye. “You are Prince Eric,” you told him, and Tony’s shoulders slumped in something like sorrow and relief.

“We’re getting her out of here,” he called over his shoulder to the others. “I’m taking her home.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry. I don't even know.


End file.
